


Six Times Marco Found Jean, and the One Time He Didn’t

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, JeanMarco Week, M/M, Missing Scene, Worldbuilding, canonverse, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2488616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco always seems to be bringing Jean back to where he needs to be.</p><p>A series of consecutive seven one shots (one for each prompt) in the same timeline written for JeanMarco Week, modeled on the "5 Things" trope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1 - Prompt: Zero Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birds have hollow bones.

It’s lights out, and Jean Kirschstein has gone missing. 

It’s not that anyone really minds—least of all Eren, who’s already mumbling about how he probably deserted because he couldn’t hack it—and Marco isn’t exactly best friends with him. But Jean doesn’t seem so terrible, and there’s something about him that Marco can’t stop thinking about.

To complicate matters further, it’s also become obvious that after the first month of training that everyone seems to think that Marco and Jean _are_ friends. And good ones, at that. Marco has simply not corrected this assumption, partly waiting to see if Jean would.

Jean has not either, though. In fact, if anything, Jean seems to appear nearby to Marco at random intervals. Most of the time, he just complains about Eren or talks about how he’s got an edge because he’s figured out how to conserve gas, but Marco always listens. He doesn’t see any reason not to.

Tonight, though, Jean is nowhere to be found.

Marco just starting the process of taking off his gear when Armin approaches him, looking wary. They’ve gotten along well since the beginning of training, even though their respective friends (or, at least, Eren being Armin’s best friend) have unofficially declared each other mortal enemies.

“Hey, Marco?”

“Hm?” Marco hums, smiling a little at Armin. “What’s up?”

“Do you know where Jean is?”

Marco shakes his head as he sits down on the edge of the bed, wiggling his toes in the stiff leather boots. 

“No, sorry,” he replies, eyebrows raising as he waits for the blissful feeling of his sore foot sliding out of the heavy boot. “I’m sure he’ll be back, though.”

“Well, the thing is...” Armin says, cringing a little, “I don’t think Shadis is going to let any of us sleep if we’re not all accounted for.”

Marco fights the urge to groan; it’s later than he thought, and if roll call doesn’t go smoothly, it turns into a long night. If Shadis is in a particularly foul mood, maybe even laps at midnight.

“I’ll go look for him,” Marco sighs, forcing himself to sit up and quash the urge to pull the boot off his aching foot. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”

Armin gives a grateful nod and sigh, and then he cringes again as a loud, irritable voice cuts through the air.

“Is Marco gonna go find horse face?”

Armin gives Marco a long-suffering look, and Marco offers him a plaintive, sympathetic smile.

“Yes,” Armin replies calmly, turning around to return to his and Eren’s bunk.

Marco looks over to find Eren’s intense stare fixed on him. To his surprise, though, he’s offered a curt nod. “What an idiot,” Eren mumbles, but it’s obviously directed completely at Jean, and not Marco.

Marco stands up and stretches his arms over his head. He swears he’s already grown another inch in the month they’ve been here, and he blinks heavily before forcing himself to walk toward the door. 

Bitter cold air meets him as he steps outside, quickly closing the door behind him, and he starts to search for Jean.

The night is clear and cold, and Marco can see a line of mountains in the distance. Just beyond them lies Jinae, and he turns his gaze away, forcing himself not to think. Homesickness is not something that anyone of their rank has any business wallowing in.

He pulls his jacket around himself more tightly, shivering as a slight breeze blows through camp. It’s not snowing yet, but it’ll come any day now; at least then, he knows he’ll be grateful for the heavy boots.

His initial search is fruitless: no one in the stables, no answer to a knock at the outhouse, no telling footprints off toward the forest. 

It’s not until he starts to circle back toward the bunks that he hears rustling, and then his name hissed from somewhere.

“Marco!”

“Jean?” Marco replies, frowning as he turns in a circle, looking for the origin of the voice.

“I’m right here. What the hell are you doing?”

Marco finally tilts his head up and blinks in surprise as he sees Jean staring down at him.

He’s managed to get himself up onto the roof of the mess hall, where the surface is wide and long enough to accommodate someone of Jean’s size and weight. 

“What are you doing up there?” Marco demands in a whisper, gesturing for Jean to come down. “Shadis is going to take roll call soon.”

Jean blinks with raised eyebrows, and then rolls his eyes. “Whatever. It’ll only be a few more minutes. You can go back—I promise I won’t make you guys run laps.”

Marco tilts his head to the side curiously, but then Jean disappears further back on the roof, the scratch of his boots stopping as he undoubtedly sits down.

In addition to being talented, bratty, and strangely magnetic, Jean is also a massive pain in the ass.

Marco sets his jaw, frowning mildly as he moves to find a way up onto the roof. 

Just as he rounds the corner and is eyeing a pile of firewood stacked against the back wall, he hears footsteps; they’re unmistakably Shadis’s, and he immediately curses under his breath and clambers up the woodpile without a plan, pulling himself onto the roof just in time. 

He rolls away from the edge, catching sight of Jean who’s staring at him in disbelief, and presses his finger to his lips in the universal sign of “be quiet.” Jean’s eyes widen, and he understands immediately once the heavy, even footsteps pass below them and toward the bunks.

Marco knows Armin probably has at least one decent excuse up his sleeve, but they have to get back before Shadis actually gets suspicious.

“What are you doing up here?” Marco hisses after a moment, sitting up and brushing off his jacket.

Jean straightens and looks downright affronted, scowling at Marco darkly and pulling his own jacket more tightly around him.

“Nothing,” he says gruffly, huffing a little, his breath white as the air gets colder with the onset of night. “I just wanted to... look at the stars.”

That takes Marco by surprise, and he immediately looks up at the sky.

“There aren’t a lot out,” he replies after a moment, the bright glow of the moon catching his eye instead. “Not the right time of year.”

After a few beats of silence, Marco finally crosses the roof carefully to sit down next to Jean; he immediately senses the way Jean stiffens, as if unsure whether to be on guard, but stays seated in the same spot.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asks suddenly, fixing Marco with an intense stare that is uncannily similar to Eren’s.

Marco meets his eyes in surprise, unsure of how to respond.

“Uh,” he starts, studying Jean’s expression, trying to predict where this is going, “not really.” He cocks his head to the side curiously. “Are you?”

Jean laughs harshly and rolls his eyes; but the way he darts his gaze back over at Marco, almost shy, says much more.

“Of course not,” he finally replies.

“Well,” Marco reasons, settling the soles of his boots against the rough, tar-pitch roof firmly so he doesn’t go anywhere, “I wouldn’t think so, since you’re so good at ODM gear.”

Jean darts another furtive glance at Marco, and Marco catches his eye this time.

“It’s sort of like...” Jean swallows with a faint bob of his adam’s apple, trying to hide it, as he finishes awkwardly, “like flying.”

Marco smiles a little at that, relaxing. “Yeah, it’s kind of nice. Like a bird.”

Jean is still tense, though, and he just stares at Marco. After a moment, he blurts out, “Did you know birds have hollow bones?”

“Um, yeah,” Marco replies. “I grew up in the country, so I know a little.”

“Do you know how far birds fly?” Jean asks, his voice suddenly urgent. 

“They can fly pretty far,” Marco reasons, running a hand through his hair and stifling a yawn. “They fly outside the Wall, anyway, and then back in. I can’t imagine that.” He smiles faintly, but it fades as when he reads the look on Jean’s face.

It’s the way his upper lip stiffens that gives him away when he’s scared or perturbed beyond Eren’s silly taunts or blows to his ego.

“Um,” Marco continues awkwardly, “does being in ODM gear remind you of... that?”

“Yeah,” Jean says, obviously trying to downplay his terror and sound nonchalant as he clears his throat, “a little. Flying, like there’s no gravity. Going out _there_... it’s just weird.” He swallows hard, and then folds his arms over his chest and sticks his chin out stubbornly. “Not that I care, since I’m damn good at it, but...”

Marco internally rolls his eyes, but he studies Jean with concern; there’s a fear there, deep in his eyes, that Marco has become very aware at this moment only he can see.

“Even though it feels like there’s no gravity,” Marco says, “you’re still attached to something by the wires.” He smiles now, showing his teeth as he moves to stand up carefully, confident in his ability to balance as he leans his weight against the sharp incline of the roof.

Jean darts his eyes up to Marco hesitantly, and then gives a little shrug.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, but the tension is gone from mouth. After a minute, he actually smiles a little.

Jean looks almost startlingly nice when he smiles and his face isn’t wracked with anger or fear.

Marco offers his hand to help Jean up, and to his surprise, it’s accepted without argument.

“C’mon,” Marco says, “let’s get back before we’re all running laps for another hour after lights out.”

They make it back to the bunks just as Armin is giving them red alert signal, stripping off their uniforms and gear quickly, and saluting next to their shared bunk as Shadis returns to do a cursory inspection of the dorm.

Once he’s satisfied everyone’s accounted for, he gives a sharp nod.

“Lights out,” he barks as he shuts the door.

Marco lets out a sigh of relief once he’s safely under the blankets on his side of the bunk, and he steals a look over at Jean.

Jean’s lying on his side with his back to Marco, probably already asleep judging from how even his breathing is.

Marco thinks that the next time they’re up on the roof, he should point out some constellations. 

They’re far enough away that they can just look, and Jean won’t be afraid of getting lost in the darkness.


	2. Day 2 - Prompt: Olympus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco always seems to be bringing Jean back to where he needs to be.
> 
> A series of seven ficlets (one per day) written for JeanMarco Week, modeled on the "5 Things" trope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean follows Marco up a mountain through a storm.

When it rains in the forest, there’s a type of calm that Jean almost finds unnerving. The quietude is so heavy and still, it’s almost as if the rest of the world has forgotten about the spot he’s in and kept going.

However, it’s broken as Jean argues with his survivalist training partner, scowling the entire time.

“Couldn’t they give us a compass or something?”

“Jean, stop complaining and help me read the map.”

Marco frowns at Jean disapprovingly where he’s standing, cloak soaked and water dripping off his hood as he tries to read the map.

“I’m not complaining!” Jean retorts indignantly as he comes to stand next to Marco and look over his shoulder. “I’m just saying—” Marco’s shoulders stiffen, and Jean knows he’s starting to actually annoy him. “All right,” he sighs in defeat, “where are we supposed to go from here?”

It’s been raining for six hours straight, and they’ve been on the trail toward a mystical cabin for eight, with a supposed intermediary lean-to shelter for them to spend the night. 

It’s starting to get dark, though, and Jean knows they should’ve reached the shelter by now.

“Oh, _no_ ,” Marco groans suddenly, holding up the map for Jean to look at. “We...”

“We went the wrong way,” Jean finishes, and groans, too. “Well, I guess we’ll have to backtrack. That’s gonna be another three hours.”

Marco sighs, staring at the ground for a few moments and breathing deeply, and then straightens to turn toward Jean.

“Okay,” he says resolutely, a determined look on his face, “we’ll just have to make due and make a shelter when we’re too tired to keep going.”

Jean nods, offering him a commiserating look; this is a bad situation for both of them.

They start hiking back in the other direction. The pack on Jean’s shoulders is feeling increasingly heavy, and he almost slips on some of the wet ferns under his boots.

By the time they’ve been hiking for an hour—far more slowly than when they’d started early that morning—Jean is ready to fall over. His boots are so wet, he can feel the leather starting to get damp even from the inside. They weren’t given their ODM gear, since the entire point of this exercise is to survive with minimal supplies.

That, and Jean knows very well that Shadis doesn’t care if anyone dies—he’s probably expecting it, in fact.

As Jean is lost deep in thought, he runs into Marco’s back suddenly, and hisses out a curse.

“Marco!” he barks. “What are you—”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Marco whispers, and Jean freezes, partially out of shock that Marco Bodt actually cursed, and partially because he sees what Marco cursed about.

In the clearing ahead, Jean sees a large, dark form staring out at them from the trees. It’s a giant bear, and he doesn’t look too happy to see them.

For a moment, all three of them just stand there, perfectly still, as if shocked by the other’s presence, until the bear lets out a rumbling growl at them.

“ _Shit_ ,” Jean echoes in a whisper, and Marco turns slowly and nudges his chin in the other direction.

“Go slow,” he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth, “and maybe he’ll leave us alone.”

Jean’s heart is pounding so hard, he feels like it’s actually going to attract the bear’s attention further; but as they start to back away, there’s no heavy footsteps that follow.

That is, not until Jean lets out a very loud sneeze, and there’s another roar.

Marco curses again, and darts toward the nearest tree, clambering up into it so quickly, that Jean would probably stop to admire his limberness if they weren’t about to be mauled by a natural forest predator.

Jean can hear the bear starting to walk toward him, although from the sound of it, he’s not coming very fast.

“Get up here!” Marco cries, staring down at Jean, his face a portrait of horror.

The truth is that Jean doesn’t know the first thing about climbing trees, and although he could probably figure out how to do it without ODM gear, he’s never actually climbed one.

Marco seems to figure this out quickly as he lies down on the branch and flattens himself, dangling his arm down. 

“Here!” he shouts, reaching out. “Grab my hand!”

The rain is pounding down hard now, and Jean is almost positive he’s going to die as he hears the bear speed up behind him, giving an outright, angry roar.

As he reaches for Marco’s hand and their fingers brush futilely on the first try, he suddenly realizes that this is what it’s like—this is why he wants to join the Military Police.

This is what it’s like to be truly afraid of being eaten.

“I’m not getting eaten by a damn _bear_ ,” he growls, and with one last, mighty heave, he jumps for Marco’s hand again. 

This time, he’s successful, and Marco pulls him bodily up onto the tree branch just as the bear reaches the base of the tree. 

He looks up at them, as if trying to decide whether they’re worth chasing further. However, much to their collective surprise and relief, he finally ambles off in another direction.

Apparently, the tender flesh of two young military cadets isn’t worth the effort of climbing a tree for.

Jean realizes he’s been holding his breath for at least a minute as he exhales hard, and he can tell Marco has been, too, as he lets out a heavy sigh. They both jump as a sharp crack of thunder sounds unsettlingly close by, and then they slowly turn to look at each other with wide eyes.

Marco starts to laugh first—high pitched and a little nervous, but real laughter—and he shakes his head.

“Why are you laughing?” Jean cries, his eyes wide as he stares at Marco in disbelief. 

Marco Bodt has finally, legitimately lost his mind; but then, when he starts laughing harder as Jean stares at him in mortification. Finally, though, Jean gives a little snort at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

It’s a relief to release the stress, and finally, he starts to laugh, too.

“Eaten by a goddamn bear,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “That’s how we go out?”

Marco is now laughing so hard, he can barely breathe; after a few minutes, though, he calms down, and looks over at Jean with a little smile. Lightning flashes, highlighting his features under the hood, and it’s suddenly as if he’s a hidden beacon of safety in a vast unknown.

And Jean feels his breath catch as their eyes meet; he’s never met someone with eyes as dark as Marco’s.

Marco blinks and cocks his head to the side, his expression turning curious.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jean coughs, frowning mildly. “Um, and... thanks.”

“For what?”

Jean pulls his cloak more securely around him, trying not to blush, and mumbles, “For saving my life.”

Marco doesn’t answer for a moment, and the rain pats down quietly in the huge pine tree they’re sitting in. Again, that sense of absolute stillness—as if time itself has stopped—settles into Jean’s bones.

“The chances of that bear _actually_ going after you were kind of slim,” Marco admits after a minute.

Jean is not exactly accustomed to bears, but he’d learned enough in classroom lessons about the various surrounding terrain that he’s not totally clueless.

“Well,” he corrects with a shrug and a sigh, “it could have.”

“Hm,” Marco hums thoughtfully. “Well, then, you’re welcome. And any time.”

Jean turns sharply to gawk at him and sputters, “Well, don’t say it like it’s going to happen again!”

Marco gives another little chuckle, but he sounds tired this time. “We should set up camp,” he finally says with a yawn. “Which watch do you want?”

“Camp? Shouldn’t we try to reach the lean-to shelter?”

Marco cocks his head to the side, and Jean can tell he’s about to break some bad news. What it could be, Jean’s not sure, but he steels himself.

“Uh, Jean?” he starts, leaning forward to poke at Jean’s pack. “Do you have supplies to last until tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Marco continues, “when I say ‘make camp,’ I mean...” he taps the branch with his fingers, “right here.”

“How are we supposed to...” Jean balks, and then groans. “Seriously?”

Marco just shrugs and raises his eyebrows; it’s obvious he’s not thrilled with the situation either. “Do we have a choice?”

Jean sighs. “I guess not, unless we want to get eaten in our sleep.”

Marco’s swallows hard, but puts on a brave face. “Let’s climb up to the branches above us. They’re thicker, and they give better coverage from the rain.”

Jean looks up carefully, and sure enough, there’s a much broader branch above them that’s the size of a small tree trunk.

“Okay,” he nods in agreement. “You want me to go first?”

Marco grins at him as he stands up easily. “It’s okay—I’ll do it. I’m a good tree climber.”

“Uh, okay.”

Marco stands up and shrugs off his pack, handing it to Jean, before he reaches up to grab the branch and dig his boot into the rough bark.

“I used to climb trees all the time in Jinae,” he explains, hoisting himself up easily. Jean also knows for a fact that Marco has the best balance in the entire squad; he keeps tabs on everyone and their talents, trying to predict who’ll be in the top ten at the end of training, and guaranteed a place in the Military Police.

“Uh huh,” he replies distractedly, slightly fascinated now by how quickly Marco moves to grab his pack, leaning over the branch as if he’s sitting on the steps to the bunks, and not hovering thirty feet in the air, in the rain, on a slick tree branch.

Jean hands the pack up, and then eyes the route Marco took warily. He’s not bad at climbing and he’s got a decent amount of strength, especially since they’re all at the peak of their physical strength due to training, but he’s unsure of his own footing on wet bark.

“C’mon,” Marco says with another friendly smile, lying down on his stomach on the branch lengthwise and offering his hand to Jean again. “I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Jean immediately snaps, throwing his hood off and running his hand through his damp hair in agitation. He promptly loses his footing and almost slips right off the weaker branch he’s standing on, and starts to blush in embarrassment after his vehement rejection of Marco’s assistance.

He just stands there for a moment, feeling the rain patting down on his head, and finally hazards a look up at Marco.

Marco, though, is still simply holding his hand out, waiting.

“Jean,” Marco says curtly, startling Jean out of his distracted stare, “I’m tired, and we’re going to have to sleep in shifts. Are you coming up or not?”

Jean’s eyes widen, and he blinks a few times.

“Fine,” he grumbles after a few beats of silence, and finally reaches up to take Marco’s hand.

Marco has a firm, confident grip, and Jean finds that he trusts it; he knows Marco won’t let him fall, and if he did, he’d be going, too.

Finally, they settle on the wide branch next to each other, a little closer than Jean’s used to with other people unless it involves hand-to-hand combat skills, and he flushes slightly. He’s relatively sure Marco doesn’t notice since it’s starting to get dark, but it’s still embarrassing.

“One of us has to make sure the other doesn’t fall off,” Marco explains patiently.

Jean studies his face as he speaks, and suddenly notices the blue circles under Marco’s eyes.

“You’re really tired,” he remarks bluntly.

Marco rolls his eyes slightly and heaves a tired sigh, but Jean interjects. “I’ll take first watch, and make sure you don’t fall, okay?”

Marco’s obviously not expecting the offer from the way he sits up a little straighter and his dark eyes become wide and unblinking; and then, after a moment, his expression softens and he smiles.

There’s something about Marco smiling that always takes Jean off guard. It might be because it’s so genuine, but not vacant or naive; or maybe it’s because he looks so young and vulnerable with those freckles.

It’s also recently begun to make Jean’s heart speed up, and he’s not sure why.

“Thanks, Jean,” Marco replies with a smile, promptly pulling his hood over his head and settling back against the trunk to lean slightly against Jean. “Wake me up in a few hours, yeah?” he sighs, already half-asleep.

“You’re going to get frostbite,” Jean murmurs reprovingly as Marco starts to snore without even pulling out a blanket that’s in each of their packs.

“Mm,” Marco murmurs, “‘ll get wet.” He yawns and sighs, letting his head fall to rest against Jean’s shoulder as he takes a deep breath in.

Jean frowns slightly, and finally settles on getting close and putting his arm around Marco’s shoulders to help keep him warm. He can feel the strength there, too.

They sleep in shifts until the rain’s stopped, and Jean wakes up to the sky turning pink. Marco’s next to him, just watching, staring up at it; and Jean watches Marco out of his peripheral vision.

He’s pulled his hood back, and looks totally un-self-aware, staring into the sky with an outright look of awe on his face.

“Good morning,” he says softly as a slight breeze blows. 

At first, Jean thinks the greeting is directed at him, but then he realizes that Marco is looking off into the distance.

He’s talking to someone far away; the realization makes Jean want to say good morning back, just so _someone_ says it to him. 

The soft words float there in the foggy morning air, and Jean shivers.

“‘Morning,” he croaks brusquely as if just waking up, straightening with a yawn. “Hey, you think when we get into the Military Police, they’ll give us better gear? Like actual wool cloaks?” 

He gives a cocky little grin as he looks over at Marco, who meets his eyes with a surprised expression. His eyes are slightly wider, and his expression is open and earnest.

Then, he breaks into a tired, slight smile, and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

They make their way out of the tree carefully—both a little stiff from spending the night there—and thankfully, the bear has disappeared.

Marco walks ahead up the mountain, and this time, Jean just follows without question.

They walk for a long time, their boots squelching in the mud, until they reach rockier terrain and the ground starts to crunch. 

The air gets noticeably colder, and Jean huddles inside his jacket that’s still damp from the night before. There’s nothing more he wants than to get out of his damp clothes, let them dry in front of a fire, and huddle into the warm, dry blanket stowed in his pack.

“Okay,” Marco says, speaking for the first time in two hours in a hoarse voice as he motions at the map he’s pulled out, “the cabin is supposed to be up here. And that flag we’re supposed to bring back.”

“ _Good_ ,” Jean grunts. “I want to get dry.”

Marco nods in sympathy, and this time, he waits for Jean to walk next to him since the path widens.

When they finally reach the top, the sun has broken through the clouds, its rays shining in bright patches on the grassy knoll where a small cabin stands. It’s more than Jean was hoping for, even though it’s in obvious disrepair, but it has _four_ walls and isn’t exposed to the elements.

“It’s like a castle,” he breathes, and Marco laughs, breaking into a run toward it with a sudden burst of energy.

The sun shines off his dark hair as he sprints full tilt ahead of Jean, and throws his arms out, spinning in a circle.

“We made it!” he declares jubilantly, grinning at Jean.

“We did,” Jean agrees, smiling himself now as he walks over to catch up to Marco.

The fresh grass smells incredible, and since he knows they’re about to dry their clothes anyway, he gives in to the immediate urge to drop down and lie in it.

He used to do this in Trost, when he’d occasionally sneak outside to the surrounding fields to lie in the grass on lazy summer afternoons, just letting the sun soak into his skin. He always did it alone, afraid to tell anyone about his secret place, lest they tell his mother where he occasionally disappeared to. She was always worried about him.

To his surprise, though, Marco collapses to the ground next to him, rolling onto his side to look at Jean with that same, good-natured grin.

“The sun’s nice,” he exclaims, shading his face to meet Jean’s eyes. 

Jean looks away abruptly, smiling nervously as he rolls onto his back, staring into the sky.

He’s suddenly afraid to look anywhere else.

They lie like that for longer than they should, watching white clouds litter the sky after the heavy night of rain. 

They made it to the top of the mountain to lie in the sun; and Jean feels like he’s in a dream.

But he notices the way Marco’s lips quirk when he sits up to meet Jean’s eyes; and he can’t look away, no matter how hard he tries.


	3. Day 3 - Prompt: Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco and Jean talk about home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never! :D
> 
> As always--even though this is a bit slow going--comments are always VERY much appreciated.

“So, where are you going for the winter holidays, Marco?”

Marco smiles warmly at Armin as he’s putting his clothes into his pack.

“I think there’s a merchant cart leaving for Jinae tomorrow, but I’m still trying to see if I can get back here in time.”

He knows Armin, Eren, and Mikasa don’t have anywhere to go, and if he wasn’t positive they’d say no, he’d invite them to Jinae. He knows his mother would welcome them, especially if she knew their predicament. He and Armin have become friends, and Armin doesn’t seem to go anywhere without the other two. 

He also knows he’s lucky, since other cadets simply live in such far-flung villages deep in the mountains, there’s no way they could get home and back in time.

That being said, there’s a rumor going around that Sasha has a plan to procure some salted meat on the day of the holiday itself.

Just as Armin gives Marco a polite nod, Shadis’s shadow appears in the doorway.

“Home?” he grunts, glaring at them. “It’s mandatory you rookies stay in the barracks for the first year, _all_ year.” He laughs humorlessly, rolling his eyes. “If you wanna go back to your mama, Bodt, then you should drop out now.”

Marco can feel his face heating, and he straightens abruptly, tightening his fist into a stiff salute.

“No, sir!” he says in a firm, loud voice. “I’m here to give life and limb to serve the King, and I’ve pledged my heart.”

Shadis raises an eyebrow and gives Marco a onceover, but there are no further rebukes. 

“At ease,” he finally says. He doesn’t hassle them any further, and pulls the heavy, oak door open to stroll into the cold, most likely on his way to terrorize someone else.

Marco breathes a sigh of relief, glancing over at Armin in mortification. 

Armin, in a rare of moment of contrition, just rolls his eyes a little, giving a wan smile.

“At least he didn’t make you run laps.”

Marco snorts and rolls his eyes a little in return; he’s willing to yield a little annoyance, since he was secretly looking forward to going home. The rule doesn’t surprise him, though, and like everything, he takes it in stride.

They both jump as the door swings open again, letting in a gust of intolerably frigid air as Jean appears, stamping the ice and snow off his boots.

“It’s _cold_ ,” he hisses, scowling at both of them. He pushes the door shut behind him, shivering into his cloak which is layered over his jacket. “I don’t know I’m going to get back to Trost in this.”

He rolls his eyes, rubbing his hands together vigorously. “It’s not like I want to go, anyway,” he complains, “but I won’t hear the end of it from my mother if I don’t.”

Armin shoots a look at Marco, raising an eyebrow; Jean is oblivious, though, and continues to yammer.

“She’s probably making a huge dinner or something. Ugh,” he cringes, shaking his head in apparent exasperation, “she’s _probably_ going to make me help her with the mashed potatoes.”

“You have mashed potatoes?” is all Armin replies with wide eyes.

Jean looks a little less eager to complain when he sees the look on Armin’s face, and clears his throat, looking at the floor.

“Well, um,” he says awkwardly, his voice far less booming than before, “sometimes. I mean, she just likes to cook.” Then he perks up again, frowning more. “Besides, you’ve seen how she writes me a letter _every_ week, right? It’s so annoying—I can look out for myself.”

Marco frowns mildly at Jean. His mother writes to him every week, too—along with his sisters and brother—but the letters only come once a month due to the distance between Jinae and the training site. 

And Armin doesn’t have anyone to write to him at all.

“Well, that’s sort of nice,” Armin pipes in, trying not to cringe. “Um...”

Jean is staring at Marco suddenly, as if finally seeing his disapproving expression, and he blinks.

“Uh...”

He obviously realizes his faux-pas as he looks back and forth between them.

“I mean,” he continues, “I’ll bring you guys back something, if you want.”

Armin smiles at him a little with a subtle shrug. “It’s okay. Besides, haven’t you heard?”

Jean raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “Heard what?”

Suddenly, Marco goes from feeling annoyed to sorry; Jean really seems to think he’s going home.

“Um,” Marco starts awkwardly as Armin lets him take the lead, “no one’s allowed to leave. Everyone’s required to stay in the barracks during the first year.”

Jean blinks twice, his mouth hanging open slightly, and some emotion Marco’s never seen flashes quickly across his face.

“Oh,” he says, the word forced, “well... good.” He reasserts himself, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’ll give me a good excuse, right?”

Armin laughs nervously. “Uh, yeah... well, I’m going to bed, guys. Good night.”

Jean nods sharply and turns away, fidgeting with his cloak as he walks toward their shared bunk.

Marco decides to give him some privacy, since he’s obviously trying to hide his disappointment about finding out that he can’t go home.

Jean’s talks about his mother relatively often—at least to Marco—and usually complains. But Marco figures no one could talk so much about someone they actually don’t care about.

He misses his own family, but he didn’t have much hope of seeing them for at least two years. When there’d been the unexpected possibility that he could go home, though, he’d mistakenly gotten his hopes up.

Now, he wishes he hadn’t since, the disappointment stings that much more; he forces himself not to think about snow and caroling in Jinae.

He’s here for a reason, and he knew there’d be sacrifices.

As he looks down at the far end of the bunks, too, he knows he could have it much worse as he watches Eren and Armin talk quietly to each other. Armin says something that makes Eren give a rare smile, and Marco sighs.

“Hey, Jean,” he asks as he strides up to their shared bunk. “You want to go with me to get the water buckets?”

The water buckets are usually placed in the bathing house the night before, but all the cadets had taken to bringing them into the bunks overnight to avoid being greeted by a block of frozen water each morning.

Shadis had only agreed because he’d claimed that they smelled otherwise.

Jean is sitting on the outside of the bunk—Marco’s side—pulling off his boots. He’s pressed himself against the foot of the bed, as if not wanting to invade Marco’s side.

Marco has been fascinated from the beginning at how Jean avoids getting into his space. He never lays a limb on Marco’s bunk and always takes a painstaking route around Marco’s feet to slide out without touching him.

Marco, on the other hand, has spent his entire life sharing beds with siblings out of practicality. Occasionally, as one of only two boys, he got awarded some privileges—like sharing a tiny bedroom with his younger brother at eleven—but that’s about it. 

Jean, on the other hand, obviously did not grow up sharing beds.

“Jean?”

“What?” Jean looks up, startled, obviously not having heard Marco the first time.

“I said, do you want to go with me for the water buckets?”

Jean just shrugs dejectedly. “I’m already half undressed.” He looks up hopefully at Marco, if not a little sheepishly. “If you get mine tonight, I’ll get yours tomorrow.”

Marco rolls his eyes slightly, but he smiles a little. “Okay.” He knows Jean will keep the promise, and he is still wearing his boots. 

The walk to the bath house isn’t particularly pleasant, since the cold feels like it’s going to freeze Marco’s nose right off, but at least it’s not snowing or sleeting.

He retrieves two heavy buckets of water from the woman rationing it out from the water tower, and hurries back to the bunks, trying not to slosh it around.

He manages to get back quickly enough, but it’s already lights out by the time he returns.

A few cadets are still awake, talking quietly amongst themselves, and he shuts the door quickly as he comes in to block out the cold.

“Bodt,” a voice hisses, “you the last one in?”

“I think so,” Marco whispers back through the dark. 

“Make sure the door’s shut all the way.”

Marco shivers, and double checks that the door is properly latched. “It is!” he confirms with more enthusiasm than necessary, as if the fact that it’s closed will make the large room less cold.

He deposits his and Jean’s bathing buckets against the wall next to their bunk, and quickly strips down to pull on his nightclothes with a shiver, practically diving under the blankets.

He’s almost tempted to snuggle up against Jean, the way him and his little brother used to on cold nights, but he feels like Jean probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

He _has_ heard that cadets are given a day off during the winter holidays, but he hadn’t known they’d have to stay at the training barracks. Nevertheless, he assumes at least the part about getting a break is probably true.

He closes his eyes, trying not to shiver, until finally he edges closer to Jean and pokes him in the back of the shoulder.

“Jean?” he whispers.

Jean makes a grumpy sound, but he’s obviously not asleep.

“Shit,” he hisses as Marco pokes him again, “your hands are cold! Stop touching me!”

Marco gives a sheepish little grin as Jean rolls over to glare at him.

“So, I’m pretty sure we at least have tomorrow off,” Marco whispers softly, turning onto his side and pulling the blanket up to his chin.

That earns a pause in Jean’s irritation, and he blinks.

“You mean...” he asks hesitantly, looking like a hungry animal wary of accepting food, “we get to go home?”

Just the way he says it makes Marco’s heart ache; he sounds very young suddenly—vulnerable.

It’s clear now: Jean is homesick.

Marco smiles gently and shakes his head. “No,” he replies softly, “I mean, we get the day off. We don’t have to train, or at least I’m pretty sure.”

Jean’s face falls. He tries to hide it, but Marco can see the effort immediately; funny, how he’s seemingly able to do that with Jean more easily these days.

“Well, like I said,” Jean finally retorts brusquely, turning onto his back with a stubborn expression and pulling the blanket up to his nose practically, “good riddance. I don’t want to deal with my mother.”

Marco gets even closer so that he’s at the edge of his own mattress, and pokes Jean’s upper arm again.

Jean growls. “God, Marco, what the—”

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?”

That catches Jean off guard as he slowly turns his head to stare at Marco, as if unsure of how to react.

“Um,” he replies uncertainly, “what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Marco says, his excitement immediately growing, “we could make snow angels, or have a snowball fight, or—”

“That stuff is for kids,” Jean interjects disdainfully. “I’d rather run _laps_ than have a snowball fight.”

He turns onto his side and makes a dismissive, disgusted noise, pulling the blanket practically over his head.

The words hit hard, and Marco feels like Jean stabbed him—he’s not expecting it, and then realizes how homesick he is, too.

“Okay,” he whispers dejectedly, turning away onto his side and trying not to think of his younger brother—what they’re all doing back in Jinae.

He’s being silly—Jean’s right. That stuff is for kids. They’re training to serve in the military, to die if need be; it’s time he forgot about his childhood and concentrated on toughening up.

“Hey,” comes an unexpected whisper, and a hesitant tap against the back of Marco’s shoulder. “I, uh...”

Marco just grunts and makes a sleepy sound, not feeling up to talking and just wanting to fall asleep to stop thinking.

Jean tries again, though, and gets close. 

“I’m sorry.”

Marco’s eyes open in shock, and his eyebrows raise as he turns back over to stare at Jean.

Jean is giving him a look that’s uncannily similar to a wounded deer; it seems that, for once, Jean has comprehended that he can hurt other people’s feelings.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he continues quietly.

Marco sighs and looks down, feeling silly. “I used to do that stuff with my little brother,” he says after a few moments. “It is stupid, but...” He trails off, feeling even more silly, until Jean speaks up.

“My mom makes these omelettes,” Jean says very softly, averting his eyes. Marco can see the blush start even in the dark. “And sometimes,” he continues, almost inaudibly, “she asks me to help. Um, I think this year, she probably needed it.”

“Is she worried about you?” Marco replies softly, settling onto his side more comfortably to meet Jean’s eyes.

He’s expecting the worst, but even he’s surprised when Jean just nods, swallowing hard.

“Yeah,” Marco replies in a hushed voice, “mine, too.”

It’s been a while now that Marco first started to think of Jean as a brother. The bond he feels has become so strong, Jean is like family; whether or not Jean realizes this—or reciprocates—is unclear. 

But all it takes is a single moment to change things, when Jean says, “Uh, do you, um, want to get closer? It’s really cold.”

Marco’s face immediately heats, and he realizes he hasn’t thought about Jean as a brother in a long time as he fights the urge to dive under the covers and snuggle up against his best friend.

Not so much for warmth, as for an excuse to touch Jean’s skin.

“Um,” Marco laughs nervously, “that’s okay. I’m warmer now, but thanks.”

Jean just gives a shrug, but then shyly looks up to meet Marco’s eyes again. There’s a short silence, until Jean unexpectedly speaks.

“Does your mother like to cook?”

Marco blinks at him, making himself comfortable on the pillow as he nods with a little smile.

“Yeah,” he confirms, his voice soft. “She always makes cookies with all my sisters for our town’s winter festival.”

Jean’s eyes widen, and he looks absolutely fascinated.

“Festival?”

Marco’s smiles widens, and he hums an affirmative. “It’s sort of what our family is known for.”

Jean raises an eyebrow. “How many sisters do you have, anyway?”

“Six. And a little brother.”

“ _Six?!_ ” Jean sputters, his mouth dropping open.

Marco starts to laugh, trying to keep quiet, but that only succeeds in making him laugh harder at the shocked look still plastered across Jean’s face.

Someone shushes them, muttering in annoyance about “some people needing to actually sleep,” and Marco quiets down.

“Why?” he asks, still amused as Jean continues to stare at him. “How many do you have?”

“Um, none,” Jean replies, suddenly looking a little embarrassed.

“ _None?_ ” Marco exclaims, his own eyes widening now. He can’t even conceive of such an existence. The Bodt home might have always been crowded, with little to no privacy, but at least he always had a friend or someone to depend on.

Jean immediately closes his expression and frowns slightly, and Marco regrets the knee jerk response.

“No, offense,” he corrects quickly. “I just meant... you didn’t have any brothers or sisters?” he asks again incredulously, offering an appeasing smile and a tilt of his head in apology. 

Jean sets his jaw, and for a moment, Marco thinks he’s lost the thread of conversation. After a moment, though, Jean finally says quietly, embarrassment creeping into his voice, “Do you think I’m...” His face flushes and he looks away.

“What?” Marco prompts, having no idea what he’s about to say.

“Ungrateful?” Jean grits out quietly.

“No!” Marco replies immediately, raising his eyebrows plaintively. As he’s about to continue, though, Jean cuts him off.

“I know Armin doesn’t have any parents,” he blurts out, and he looks downright ashamed of himself. “And...”

“Jean,” Marco interjects, reaching out to place a steadying hand on his shoulder, “no one thinks that. Or, at least I don’t.”

Jean just stares, searching Marco’s face for deceit, but then is seemingly satisfied as his jaw unclenches.

“Um,” he replies awkwardly, still not moving Marco’s hand, “okay.”

Marco pats his arm, before drawing away. “So,” he says with a bright smile, snuggling into his blankets to try and keep warm, “I already told you about Jinae. What about Trost?”

“Trost?” Jean replies, quirking an eyebrow and giving a little shrug under the scratchy military-issue blanket. He snorts. “Nothing exciting.”

Marco doesn’t try to hide his curiosity, and he knows his eyes must be round. “Are there decorations?”

Jean shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t seem to be planning an escape.

“Well,” he hazards, studying Marco carefully, “yeah. There are these... really obnoxious wreaths they put up.” He laughs softly, rolling his eyes. “They must be fifty years old. They’re big, and made of those bendy vines...”

“Grapevines?” Marco supplies.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jean replies with a shrug, inching a little closer as he warms up to the subject. “And then, they stream these ribbons across from building to building.” He laughs softly, and then looks down as a shadow comes over his face that he’s obviously trying to hide. “My mother loves it.” He shakes his head, scowling suddenly. “It’s so stupid. She acts like...” His voice cracks, and he cuts himself off, clearing his throat. 

Marco isn’t dissuaded, though, and nods. “So, what does she cook?”

Jean shoots him a look; it’s obvious he’s very aware now that Marco is trying to coax the information out of him, but surprisingly, he doesn’t refuse.

“She makes this pudding during the holidays,” he blurts out, looking more downtrodden now than defensive. “One year...” he laughs wryly, and diverts his eyes again, “I tried to help. I was... around seven, I think?”

Marco hums, nodding at Jean to continue, trying to hide his absolute fascination lest Jean stop telling the story.

“Well,” he says, still not meeting Marco’s eyes, his voice uncharacteristically timid, “I couldn’t reach the stove. I grabbed a pan of boiling water, and burned myself so bad, I had to go to the doctor.”

“Oh no!” Marco gasps, his eyes wide.

Jean raises an eyebrow, and then laughs softly, rolling his eyes; it’s not mean-spirited, though.

“Uh, in case it’s not obvious, I recovered. But I’ve got a nasty scar.”

“Can I see it?” Marco immediately asks, the words out of his mouth before he can stop them, but it doesn’t seem to strike Jean as strange.

It’s just like any other two boys, showing each other childhood scars and boasting about the mischief they got into.

Generally, however—Marco thinks as Jean unbuttons his nightshirt—it’s unlikely that the act of a friend undoing a shirt is supposed to make someone’s heart speed up so fast.

He’s seen Jean without clothes on a million times. As a cadet in the military, it’s inevitable.

“See?” Jean says, a note of childish pride in his voice as he pushes the blanket down to show Marco a mark on his chest. “The pan hit me _right_ here.”

Marco does _not_ mention that he’s quite familiar with that scar, nor does he mention that he’s also spent a fair amount of time noticing how pronounced Jean’s nearby clavicles are, nor how strong his shoulders look.

“Wow,” he croaks.

Jean snorts. “What? You got something better?”

Marco blinks out of his daze, and then starts to laugh. “No, nothing better than that.”

Jean grins, buttoning his nightshirt back up and chuckling softly.

“So, did you ever actually learn how to cook?”

Jean’s face immediately sobers, and he looks down again; however, he does roll back onto his side to face Marco.

“Yeah,” he says simply. He bites his lip, and finally meets Marco’s eyes, obviously forcing himself. “One year, she was sick. So, I made her soup or something. I don’t remember.”

He shakes his head, finally retreating to lie on his back. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Jean,” Marco says softly, reaching out again. Feeling brave, he worms his hand under the covers to touch Jean’s shoulder through the nightshirt. To his surprise, though, Jean doesn’t jerk back or comment. “I miss my family, too.”

Jean hazards a look at Marco from the corner of his eye, frowning mildly. After a moment, though, the look dissolves, and he sighs wearily.

“She’s going to be really disappointed,” he breathes quietly.

Marco leaves it unspoken that Jean is disappointed, too.

“Yeah,” Marco nods, giving a sad, faint smile and drawing his hand back, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t still celebrate.”

Jean groans at Marco and rolls his eyes, rolling over onto his stomach and pulling his pillow over his head. 

“Are you serious, Bodt?” he says, muffled through the pillow.

Marco just laughs softly, rolling onto his own back and nudging at Jean’s shin with his foot.

“I’m totally going to beat you in a snowball fight.”

Jean kicks back at him, and pokes his head out from the pillow, squinting. “Not on your life.”

Marco shivers a little, and he suddenly wishes he hadn’t refused Jean’s offer before.

“Um...” he stammers awkwardly, causing Jean to put his pillow back in its rightful place and stare at Marco expectantly.

“Yeah?” he prompts, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s really cold,” Marco shivers, trying to keep the heat in his pathetic excuse for a blanket.

Jean cocks his head to the side and looks baffled. “Uh, yeah, it is. It’s winter.”

They just stare at each other, and understanding slowly slides into Jean’s expression.

“So,” he says gruffly, breaking eye contact, “just... come over here, then.”

Marco practically jumps on top of him, snuggling up to Jean like an oversized cat. He tries to vanquish all impure thoughts from his mind, and focus on being happily warm.

Jean just lies there stiffly for a moment, before turning his head to look at Marco so they’re almost nose to nose.

To Marco’s surprise, though, Jean suddenly rolls over to hug Marco close and shivers. “Shit, why is so freezing?” he hisses, starting to laugh.

The sound makes Marco’s heart beat a little faster in that way he’s tried to ignore for a while, but he doesn’t care so much right now since all he’s concerned with is not letting his nose freeze off.

“I don’t know,” Marco whispers back, laughing, too. “It’s pretty cold in Jinae, but this is...”

“Like being dunked in an icy water trough,” Jean finishes, teeth chattering.

Marco hesitates, but then, without a word, he rearranges both their blankets so they’re layered over each other. Jean doesn’t even question it, just huddles under Marco’s chin for warmth, pressing against him eagerly.

“Is this okay?” Marco asks hesitantly.

For a moment, he thinks Jean is going to reject him, tell him what a creep he is for wanting to get so close... until a loud, obnoxious snore vibrates against his chest, and he starts to laugh silently.

“Shut up!” he hears Eren’s voice hiss from all the way across the bunks. “I know that’s you!”

Jean murmurs a curse and just snuggles against Marco, totally relaxed.

Marco takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, his arm slung over Jean’s torso. 

He’s asleep before he can think anymore.

= = =

“You pathetic excuses for soldiers get the day off!” Shadis barks from the doorway, the cold air wafting in. 

There are a few sharp groans as some of the cadets sleeping on the bottom bunks jump up and hit their heads, and a chorus of yawns and sleepy acknowledgements of “Sir!”

“National holiday. Waste of time to me! You’re free to do what you choose today. Breakfast is at the normal hour.”

With that, Shadis leaves the bunks, slamming the door behind him.

Jean is still curled against him, his face pressed firmly against Marco’s chest, breathing evenly.

Marco is blushing hotly, now that their position has been revealed in the light of day, but no one seems to care or even be watching.

A few people roll back over and mumble something about wanting more sleep over food, and if Marco’s not mistaken, he catches sight of a hand dangling over the side of the top bunk. After a moment, the stray hand is retrieved, and two sets of fingers lace together in a way that makes Marco blush as they disappear.

Reiner and Bertolt—possibly more than just childhood friends.

Not that Marco’s anyone to judge.

Especially given that Jean Kirschstein is currently nuzzling his neck and making sleepy, affectionate sounds he’d be mortified over if he were awake.

“Jean?” Marco says, pulling away; he receives a disgruntled snuffle in response.

“Mm, is it time to get up?” Jean murmurs with a silly smile on his face, eyes still closed. “Is breakfast almost ready?”

Marco’s face softens, and he resists the urge to reach out and touch Jean’s cheek, just to let him dream his lovely dream of being home a little longer.

Instead, he decides to let him sleep as he draws away fully, tucking both blankets around Jean who rolls over, huddling into the blanket nest.

Marco’s quick as he struggles with his bucket of water to the bathing house, trying not to feel the frigid chill of the early morning. He’s become a master of the five minute bucket bath, and even though he’s not the best at buckling ODM gear, it’s become a talent in winter temperatures. 

By the time he stumbles into the mess hall, only half the cadets are present, the other half obviously having opted to sleep in.

“Hey, Marco,” Armin waves, smiling and motioning for Marco to join him, Eren, and Mikasa.

Marco smiles a little, and makes his way over with his tray to sit down next to Armin.

He’s always been a little intimidated by Eren, if only for the intensity he shows; Marco’s not used to dealing with people that are so angry.

However, the secret that Marco will never reveal for as long as he lives is that he now approaches Eren the same way he approaches Jean, since they’re actually quite similar. They also seem to be the only ones who don’t realize it, and no one is volunteering to tell them.

“So,” Marco starts cheerfully, aiming a smile at Eren and Mikasa who both just look unimpressed, “what are you guys doing today?”

“Training,” Eren grunts, bending further forward to eat his oatmeal.

Mikasa shrugs a little.

“Hey, guys!” comes a cheerful voice. “Do you think they’re going to serve us roast tonight to celebrate?”

Sasha comes to perch on the bench next to Mikasa and sidles up next to her, grinning like a lunatic as she rests her chin in her hands.

Mikasa’s eyes widen slightly as she looks to her left impassively, but seemingly has no plan to remove Sasha.

“No,” she says bluntly.

Sasha pouts slightly. “But there’s no reason not to hope, right?”

Eren snorts, rolling his eyes, and Marco manages a smile. “Uh, even so, I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“A girl can dream,” Sasha sighs. “What are you guys doing today?”

“Training,” Eren repeats.

No one even questions it.

“I was thinking about taking a walk,” Armin contributes brightly, smiling a little. “Just to explore, since we don’t really get to a lot.”

Sasha smiles and points at Armin. “Armin, that’s a great idea! We can go hunting for small game! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it—all we need is an ODM blade.”

Marco’s eyes widen and he kicks Sasha under the table. “If Shadis hears you say that,” he hisses, nudging his head toward the door where Shadis may, or may not, be lurking outside, “he’ll make you run laps _all day._ ”

Sasha has become a connoisseur of running laps.

“Well, that’s why we’re going to keep it a secret!” she whispers back, blinking her wide eyes.

Marco knows she comes from the same direction he does, but she’s much further into the mountains. 

“Count me out,” Marco replies, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I can’t afford to get in trouble.”

Sasha looks crestfallen, and Marco goes back to eating his breakfast.

“I’ll go,” Mikasa says suddenly.

Everyone looks up—even Eren—with shocked expressions.

“You will?” Sasha exclaims in a hushed voice.

Mikasa shrugs. “I want meat. If we catch it ourselves, then it’s ours.”

Armin groans in exasperation and Eren rolls his eyes. 

Sasha immediately begins whispering into Mikasa’s ear, and all the while, Mikasa just stares with her usual, impassive gaze; but Marco is relatively sure that there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

They disappear after a few minutes, Eren goes in the other direction to continue his training, and Armin bundles up for his morning stroll into the forest.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” comes a grumpy voice from behind Marco just as he’s finishing his bread.

Jean frowns at him as he sits down across from Marco.

“You looked tired and like you were having a nice dream.”

That inspires a healthy blush that stains Jean’s cheeks, and Marco can’t even pretend he didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles, kicking Marco under the table half-heartedly.

Marco grins at him as Jean stands up to retrieve food before the meal hour is over, and he watches as Jean retreats.

Then, just as quickly, he looks down at the knotted wood of the table, because he realizes he’s suddenly watching the way Jean’s hips move with far more interest than he should.

“What’s wrong?” 

He starts and looks up, hoping the panic doesn’t show on his face as Jean stands there, staring at him in bewilderment.

“What do you mean?” he replies, raising his eyebrows defensively.

“You look like you just saw a bear.”

The reference to their recent misadventure makes Marco smile, and he relaxes. “No, just thinking too hard.”

Jean shrugs, digging into his breakfast, obviously oblivious to Marco’s impure thoughts.

“So, what do you want to do today?” Marco asks, shifting topics as he clears his throat awkwardly.

Jean is quiet for a moment, with only the sound of his spoon hitting the tin bowl.

“You talk a big game.”

Marco blinks. “What?” he blurts out.

Jean’s eyes raise, and he’s smiling a little—it’s a rare expression, and it’s at that very moment that Marco realizes for the first time—he’s the only one who ever gets to see it.

“Snowballs.”

Marco immediately grins, straightening up; he gladly ignores his confused jumble of emotions for a little, old-fashioned competition.

“I’m going to beat you.”

“You are not.”

“I’m better at ODM gear than you are, so I’ve already proven I’m faster.”

Cannon, fired.

“Hey!”

Direct hit.

“You are not!”

Marco grins.

“Am so.”

Jean finishes his breakfast in three massive bites, and then declares a race to beat Marco to the biggest snow bank.

They spend the afternoon throwing snowballs at each other, crowing and laughing at each other.

At one point, Marco sees Shadis; they both duck, hoping not to be made to run laps, and Marco can hear Jean laughing.

But there’s something about the way Shadis turns abruptly—the expression in his already-shadowed eyes—that makes something dark bloom in Marco.

It’s foreboding, fear, dread. Death.

He takes a deep breath, and then focuses on Jean.

Jean is staring at him from the other snow bank, his face an angry red where Marco hit him twice with snowballs even though he’s grinning, and Marco immediately feels better.

No matter what happens, this will always be a happy moment.

“Hey!” he calls. “C’mon!”

They run at a slower, tired pace back to the barracks, and both of them are stopped in their tracks by the distinct smell of wood smoke.

Jean’s face immediately sobers, and he looks at Marco in concern.

“Is that fire?”

Marco sniffs at the air, but then relaxes, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s coming from the woods.”

Jean looks baffled, but lets Marco grab his hand and lead the way.

Mikasa and Sasha are generous with their haul of squirrels, and allow Jean and Marco to sit on a log and eat one together off a spit.

It’s the best day Marco’s had in recent memory.


End file.
